


Face the Music

by chillestavenger



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fake Dating, M/M, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, fade to black smut, fluff angst and stupidty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-19 08:07:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29747490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chillestavenger/pseuds/chillestavenger
Summary: When Jaskier pretends that he and Geralt are a couple to get out of a sticky situation at court, he assumes it will be a one time thing. He assumes wrong.A fake dating fic featuring a lot of pining and not much actual Witchering.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 272





	Face the Music

Geralt hated parties. Jaskier knew this. But he also knew that parties paid well when he was playing them, and that Geralt liked copious amount of food and drink he hadn’t paid for. And Jaskier suspected, or perhaps just hoped, that Geralt liked Jaskier with all his organs intact, rather than spilled across the floor by a noble who took the idea of marital ownership a little too seriously. And so, as happened sometimes, Jaskier was mingling after a successful set, flushed and just the right side of tipsy, while Geralt had found an empty stretch of wall on which to lean and brood. As Jaskier watched, a buxom redhead approached Geralt with a gleam in her eye, and Jaskier pointedly ignored the prickle of jealousy he felt come over him at that. It wasn’t fair of Jaskier to begrudge his friend finding some actual pleasure at this function, regardless of any ridiculous romantic notions Jaskier may indulge in during long nights in the woods. He forced himself to look away, and say something blandly pleasant to the woman congratulating him on his performance. But when Jaskier’s eyes inevitably slid back to Geralt’s corner of the room, the situation seemed to be going south. The flirtatious woman was now leaning on Geralt’s arm, and Geralt looked supremely uncomfortable. The woman seemed drunk, or well on the way to it, and Jaskier noticed a circle of young ladies nearby giggling and nodding her way. There was no chance Geralt had missed them with his enhanced senses. Jaskier had seen this before in taverns, women who thought propositioning a witcher was some sort of thrilling dare or outrageous story, and something sour twisted in Jaskier’s stomach as he watched the cruel game play out. This woman seemed more persistent than usual, and Geralt couldn’t say something gruff and a little scary to put her off as he would in a tavern. This party was quiet, well lit, and full of noblemen who would love to play valiant knight against an unarmed and vastly outnumbered witcher if he so much as raised his voice to a pretty lady. Jaskier saw Geralt’s jaw tighten, the way it did when he wouldn’t admit how much an injury hurt, and he couldn’t just stand by and watch anymore. He excused himself from whoever it was that was speaking to him, and made his way through the crowd towards Geralt. He could think of only one tactic that could diffuse the situation without causing a scene, and he hoped that it would be at least slightly more palatable to Geralt than what was currently happening. The witcher locked eyes with Jaskier as he approached, but didn’t say a word. The vile woman was still hanging off his arm, and Jaskier pointedly ignored her, placing what he hoped looked like a possessive hand on Geralt’s waist.

“Darling, you’ve yet to come and tell me how prettily I played tonight” he said, leaning in close to Geralt’s face, hoping he wasn’t about to get punched. Geralt’s eyes widened at the words, and Jaskier cut his glance towards the red haired woman, who had at least let go of Geralt’s arm at Jaskier’s words. Did Jaskier really have to spell this out for him?

The coin must have finally dropped because Geralt cleared his throat and said “You always play prettily, uh- dearest. You do everything prettily.”

Jaskier was embarrassed by how little acting it took for his eyes to go starry at that, for him to sigh and lean his head on Geralt’s massive shoulder. “I thought I was supposed to be the poet, my love.” The interfering wench finally, _blessedly_ took the hint and walked away with her nose in the air, and Jaskier was quick to put a little distance between him and Geralt. He didn’t want to be another headache for Geralt to deal with, someone else putting his hands on the witcher when they were not wanted. He held his breath, wondering if Geralt would be grateful or angry at his interference.

“You should not have done that,” Geralt said stonily. Ah, angry then.

“Well it looked like you could use some assistance with that particular beast” he shot the redhead a dirty look where she was still watching them, a little ways away. “And you once declared that I was a eunuch to get me out of a sticky situation at court. Are you going to tell me that an implication of romantic attachment to _me_ is worse than that?” Jaskier had said it as a joke, but he immediately wished he hadn’t. If Geralt said yes, if he meant it, well. Jaskier would have to get quite a bit more drunk than he’d planned to tonight.

Geralt sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jaskier, you don’t want people to think you’re-” he paused, looked uncomfortable, and Jaskier narrowed his eyes.

“Think I’m what, exactly?” he asked, his voice gone cold. Geralt had seen Jaskier pull plenty of men as well as women into a room or side alley. He didn’t exactly make a secret of it. And he had always thought that Geralt was supremely unmoved by the whole business, thought him above the petty prejudices some humans engaged in. But perhaps he had been wrong.

“A witcher’s _plaything_ ,” Geralt growled, not meeting Jaskier’s eye.

“You’re worried about _my_ reputation?” he said, incredulous.

“People will think unflattering things about you, if you imply that there’s something going on with – with me.” Jaskier’s heart sank. He hated it when Geralt talked like this, like it was an undisputed fact that he was some horrible monster.

“Well let them try. I don’t have an unflattering angle.” Jaskier struck a dramatic pose, and was relieved to see the corner of Geralt’s mouth twitch. “And besides, what do they know? Perhaps you’re _my_ plaything.” Jaskier shot him a truly ridiculous wink, Geralt gave him a shove that was more of a gentle nudge, and Jaskier knew that they were allright.

The next time Jaskier finished a performance, there was no Geralt to seek out in the crowd. He was still out on a hunt- Jaskier had already forgotten the name of the monster, he’d pester Geralt for the proper pronunciation later- and it was getting late. Jaskier knew that he should go to bed rather than sitting up worrying like he was Geralt’s wife or something, but he also knew that if he went up to their room he’d stay awake worrying anyway. He figured he might as well stay down in the tavern where there was beer and enough candlelight to work on a song. Of course, in Jaskier’s maudlin state, the only piece yielding inspiration was one of his really gooey ones about Geralt, rhyming couplets about his eyes and hidden kindness and the like. He would never perform this song, just as he hadn’t performed many others, instead leaving them crumpled at the bottom of his pack until they were lost or damaged, but still. He would get some satisfaction just from seeing it to completion. A hulking figure cast a shadow over Jaskier’s parchment and he looked up with a relieved smile, expecting to see Geralt. His face fell when he saw a stranger instead. “Well if it isn’t the little songbird,” the man said in a booming voice, attracting the attention of the few people left downstairs at this hour. “Toss a coin an’ all that. Do you always sing so much about that witcher you came in with?”

“Well, he is a good source of thrilling subject matter,” Jaskier said, eyeing the door and hoping that somehow speaking of Geralt would make him appear.

“Oh you find him _thrilling_ do ya?” Jaskier furrowed his brow, not a fan of this man’s tone.

“Certainly I do, at least when compared with my current company.”

“Yeah I’ve heard about the kind of company you two keep.” The man was definitely sneering now, and Jaskier began to roll up his scroll. He hadn’t quite decided if he was going to punch this idiot or retreat to his room, but either way he was going to have to put his work away. Before he could, the man snatched the parchment out of Jaskier’s hands, saying “What’s this then?”

Jaskier stood abruptly, his stool clattering to the ground behind him. “Give it back.” He held out a hand, trying to look imperious.

He failed apparently, as his tormenter just made a show of reading the parchment and crowed “Oh it’s a _love_ song. Who wants to hear what the witcher’s whore has to say?” The awful man waved the parchment in the air, and a few other equally huge and drunk men gathered to watch the scene, effectively closing Jaskier in. The ringleader looked back to the parchment and recited in a terrible sing song: “ _Eyes like the embers you stoke in my heart / They burn and they ache every time we do part”_ The group burst into loud laughter, and Jaskier wanted to die and thought that by the look of these men, his wish might soon be granted. “What a fine way to say you bend over for a filthy mutant!” The group jeered and closed in tighter.

One of them came so close that his shoulder knocked into Jaskier, none too gently. He said “Tell me, does the Butcher of Blaviken pay you before you go down on your knees, or are you just that much of a-”

“Of a what?” boomed a blessedly familiar voice. Geralt shoved his way through the circle of men, covered in something’s guts, his eyes still black from his potions. Jaskier supposed he must look fearsome to everyone else, but to him Geralt was the most welcome sight in the world.

“Ah witcher, didn’t see you come in.” The man closest to Jaskier looked nervous now. “We were just keeping your _companion_ here company. Didn’t think you’d have use of him tonight.”

“Then you thought wrong.” Geralt clapped a firm hand on the back of Jaskier’s neck, and Jaskier thought there was something very wrong with him that he was still able to be aroused at such a moment. “I have use of him _every_ night, so it would be better for everyone if you left him the _fuck_ alone.”

“We didn’t mean any harm.” The man with Jaskier’s song held up his hands in a placating manner, and the parchment fell to the filthy inn floor. Jaskier wanted to crouch down and grab it, but he didn’t think even his dignity could survive that. He stayed where he was.

“And if you leave now, there will be no harm.” Geralt was outnumbered by at least half a dozen, but whether it was the tone of his voice or the look in his black eyes or the two swords strapped across his back, the group clearly decided that they didn’t like their odds, and they hastily disbursed with some rude grumbles. Geralt kept his hand on Jaskier’s back all the way up the inn’s stairs, until they were finally, blessedly behind the closed door of their room.

“Are you allright?” Geralt asked, staring at the floor.

“Sure, yeah, never been better,” Jaskier huffed, brushing down the front of his doublet even though there was nothing on it.

“Im- sorry, that I spoke about you like that. I was just-”

“Getting them to fuck off. Yeah I know, and it worked. I’m not bothered about that.”

“But you are. Bothered.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Yeah you could say that.” Geralt said nothing, waiting for Jaskier to say more. “I just, I do have _some_ pride you know. I can handle myself with a few drunk men. I would have figured something out.” Geralt shot him a skeptical look. “Or maybe I wouldn’t have! I just don’t want you to think I’m-” Jasker stopped, clamping his mouth shut. Geralt just gave one of his “hmms”, this one in a questioning tone. “Weak,” Jaskier finished quietly. “I just hated looking so weak.”

“You are not weak, Jaskier.” Geralt met his eyes. “If not for me you never would have had to face those men.”

“Don’t you dare,” Jaskier snapped. “Don’t you take responsibility for those – those-” he flapped his hands ineffectively. “It’s very late and I can’t think of a word cutting enough for those bastards, but you know what I mean.” He flashed on the one who had recited his lyrics, and covered his face with his hands. “Oh gods. How much did you hear?”

“I- well, they were-”

“The song Geralt.” Jaskier dropped his hands. “Did you hear the song?”

“What song?”

“He took the song I was writing, and he read out the lyrics and they all _laughed._ ” Jaskier was horrified to hear his voice shake. “You didn’t hear any of that, did you?”

“No,” Geralt said, and Jaskier believed him because he didn’t think Geralt would be tactful enough to lie. A warm, gentle hand grasped Jaskier’s arm for just a moment. “They should not have done that,” Geralt said quietly. From a man who always insisted that he didn’t get involved in human squabbles, a man Jaskier had watched absorb a thousand insults without batting an eye, the few words spoke volumes. There didn’t seem to be much more to say after that, and Geralt began to clean the worst of the monster guts off of himself as Jaskier flopped dejectedly onto one of the two narrow beds.

Jaskier was almost asleep when he heard Geralt mutter, “rotted ballsacks.”

He let out a surprised guffaw. “What was that?”

“That’s the word for those men. I’ve been thinking about it.” Jaskier smiled in the dark, his heart feeling surprisingly light given the awful night he’d had.

Things seemed to go back to normal after that. Well, perhaps not normal, as Jaskier was still following a witcher on his monster hunts and sleeping in the dirt more often than not, but normal for them, at any rate. The warm summer air was beginning to turn, a hint of autumn creeping in, which always made Jaskier a little sad. It meant they were that much closer to the start of winter, at which point Geralt would inevitably announce out of the blue that he’d leave for Kaer Mohen in the morning. Jaskier may not be the most socially delicate person, but even he knew he was not invited to the super secret witcher fortress. So he would find some town to winter in, playing to the same faces every night, and it would all be cold and boring and _lonely,_ if he was being embarrassingly honest with himself. He could always go to court and ingratiate himself with some noble using his skills with the lute or between the sheets, depending what their pleasure was, but even that pursuit was getting to be a bit dull and predictable. So, anyway, the _point_ that Jaskier’s restless mind was trying to circle as he trudged towards a village with Roach and Geralt beside him in the twilight, was that Jaskier should appreciate the time he had left with Geralt, this year, and most definitely _shouldn’t_ bring up the fact that the two had now pretended to be lovers more than once. It was on his mind and the tip of his tongue often, to tease Geralt about it and gauge his reaction, or, in his madder moments, to bring it up earnestly and tell Geralt of his feelings. But he held back, figuring that the risk of making things awkward between the two of them far outweighed any miniscule chance that Geralt would respond favorably. He’d had over a decade, after all, to respond to Jaskier’s flirtations. A couple of lies to drunk strangers didn’t change any of that, so Jaskier determined that he would put the whole subject far, far away.

“You’re not getting ill again, are you?”

“What?” Jaskier said, looking up at Geralt to find him staring down at Jaskier, an evaluating look in his amber eyes.

“The last time you were this quiet was when you got that fever, after the swamp.”

Jaskier felt his face break out in a grin. “Are you worried about me, my dear witcher?”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Worried I’ll have to spend three days sponging sweat off you again because you are too foolish to speak up when you’re getting ill.” Jaskier did not mention the fact that he’d never asked Geralt to care for him himself, that he could have dropped Jaskier off at the nearest healer’s and been on his way. It seemed there was a lot Jaskier wasn’t mentioning, these days.

“Well I am not ill, though your concern is touching, truly. I was just thinking.”

“Hmm. Don’t hurt yourself.” Jaskier jostled his shoulder into Geralt’s thigh where it straddled Roach, and where once Geralt would have barked at him not to touch his horse, now he placed a hand on top of Jaskier’s head and nudged him away, an almost fond look on his face. Yes, Jaskier was right not to risk the fragile friendship they’d built.

They arrived at the inn that was their destination, the one described on the “monster slaying required” posting Geralt had found in the larger town nearby. The building was small and clearly quite old, but it also looked clean and well loved, a welcome change from the types of places they usually stayed. Jaskier located the owner, a kindly middle-aged woman who seemed eager for a good chat, and began to ingratiate himself while Geralt stabled Roach. When Geralt came in, Jaskier waved him over, saying “Geralt, come say hello to my new friend Llorna!”

Geralt nodded his greeting, and held up the posting. “It says to enquire here for the job?”

Llorna nodded. “Oh yes, that’s my posting actually. I never thought that Geralt of Rivia of all people would be the one to respond.” Geralt just raised an eyebrow. “We had a bard come through last week who played a few of your songs. It was quite exciting.”

“They’re not my songs,” was Geralt’s only response.

“They’re mine, actually,” Jaskier leaned across the bar, inserting himself back into the conversation. “I’m the bard who follows Geralt on his daring adventures and records them, from who all other bards take inspiration.”

Llorna’s face lit up. “You’re never!” Jaskier just nodded, pleased to be met with the reception he deserved, for once. “Oh you must play for us tonight, please.”

“Of course, I shall be happy to oblige,” he bowed in her direction.

“What’s the job?” Geralt asked, never one to waste time on pleasantries.

Jaskier looked around the inn as Llorna described her town’s troubles. He’d never particularly liked this part of Geralt’s job, all the small acts of suffering that were not heroic, merely sad.

Geralt nodded and said the name of a monster Jaskier couldn’t pronounce for the life of him. “I shall have to start after sunrise,” Geralt continued. “They don’t come out in the dark. What’s your price?”

She named a price that was in the usual range for a smaller job, and Jaskier knew that Geralt was about to accept but Llorna continued talking. “Of course, I didn’t know that it would be _you_ coming and now I fear I haven’t gathered enough coin. Perhaps I could sweeten the deal with a few nights room and board for the two of you in my very best room?”

Geralt was about to be unnecessarily honest and say that just the coin was fine, Jaskeir could tell, and he quickly caught the witcher’s eye. _Her very best room, Geralt_ he mouthed, trying to plead with his eyes. Geralt heaved a sigh, as though Jaskier convincing him to sleep in a bed rather than a pile of moss was a great burden to bear, and said, “That will suffice, thank you.”

Normally Jaskier would have liked to freshen up from the road before jumping straight into a performance, but who was he to leave an adoring audience in the form of Llorna and a slowly growing stream of dinner guests waiting? He left his pack with Geralt, knowing the extra baggage wouldn’t be a burden to the hulking man if he did want to go up to the room, and took the stage.

Jaskier was happy to find that the inn’s customers were a good audience, laughing at his jokes and cheering appreciatively at his bawdier lines. He usually tried to keep his eyes wandering during a performance, flirtatious but nonspecific, but tonight he couldn’t help being pulled back to Geralt’s corner. He hadn’t disappeared upstairs as Jaskier had expected, but instead was holed up in a corner with free food and drink looking for all the world like he wasn’t horrified to be watching Jaskier’s performance. It made sense, Jaskier mused during an applause break, that Geralt looked almost at peace tonight. They’d been given a surprisingly warm welcome here, were assured of a safe and comfortable place to rest, and there were no monsters that needed to be fought in this exact moment. Jaskier wondered if this is what Geralt would always look like if his life wasn’t dominated by violence and derision. If he was only human. It was an achingly sad thought, and Jaskier had to shake it away unless he wanted his next song to be a dirge. Geralt looked happy tonight, there was every indication he would let Jaskier stay by his side until winter, and Jaskier was helping no one by waxing poetic about things that could not be. Jaskier wrapped up his set and rushed over to join Geralt, who already had a plate of hot food waiting for him, the gods bless him. Jaskier threw his head back when he bit into a sinfully delicious roasted potato and licked his lips after he swallowed. “Mmm exceptional food, a receptive audience, and friendly folk? Let’s stay here forever.”

Geralt scoffed, a half smile on his face. “You’d be bored within the week.”

“Would not,” he retorted before tucking into his food in earnest. _Not with you._ “So, do we really have to be up at dawn to hunt this whatever-you-call-it?”

“ _I_ should be up soon after daybreak so I can have the maximum time to track it. You don’t have to do anything.”

Jaskier just shook his head. “Please, you know I’m coming along to get the whole story, since you wouldn’t know an adjective if it danced naked in front of you. I just want to know how much beauty sleep I need.”

Geralt shrugged. “I’ll probably head up soon. There’s no telling what you or your beauty need.”

Jaskier batted his eyelashes at Geralt with a smirk. “I’ll go with you, once I finish this- _mmm_ – heavenly meal. I intend to get full use of our free lodgings.”

Geralt’s face clouded. “The innkeeper offered one room, Jaskier. I’m not waiting outside while you’re in there with the first willing partner you find.”

Jaskier stage gasped. “I was talking about _sleeping_ Geralt, without pine needles sticking into my ass for once. Goodness me get your mind out of the gutter! I do get tired, you know. I’m only human.”

“I’m well aware,” Geralt said into his flagon, and Jaskier didn’t have a clue what that was supposed to mean.

At any rate, they made it up to the room to find that it was quite nice and cozy- and quite clearly meant for a couple, with one large bed taking up most of the space. The two of them had never shared a bed before, always getting one room with two beds or separate rooms, when they could afford it. And now, as Jaskier looked between the innocent single bed and Geralt’s look of horror, he couldn’t help but giggle.

“What,” Geralt snapped, cutting his gaze towards Jaskier.

“Oh nothing,” Jaskier bit his lip. “Just wondering what else the bard who played my songs shared with Llorna.” Geralt looked nonplussed, so Jaskier elaborated. “It seems word has traveled, about our epic love affair.”

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, as though Jaskier had somehow orchestrated all of this to torment him. “It looked quite full, downstairs. I doubt she has anything else available at this hour.”

“How could you even think of asking” Jaskier scolded, “after she was so proud to offer us her best room for free? That would be terribly rude.” Geralt just turned to his pack and began to unfurl his bedroll in the scant space between the door and the bed. “What are you doing?” Jaskier asked.

“Letting you have the bed,” Geralt said without looking at him. “I know I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t.”

“No you certainly wouldn’t. But I also won’t have you crammed on the floor all night because of me. I’d feel like a terrible brute, and then you’d never hear the end of that either.”

“So what do you suggest?”

Wasn’t it obvious? “The bed is huge, Geralt. There’s no reason we can’t both be comfortable.” Unless, of course, Geralt would _not_ be comfortable sharing a bed with Jaskier, a man who bedded other men, and was now rumored to be bedding Geralt himself. “Your virtue is quite safe, I promise,” he continued, with a bravado he didn’t feel.

Geralt just shrugged. “I was just thinking about your delicate sensibilities. Doesn’t matter to me.” And with that he was rolling the bedroll up again and stowing it away.

“I think I’ve stitched you up enough times that you know I’m not quite so delicate as all that,” Jaskier scoffed. And it was true, they’d seen each other in various states of undress and distress enough times that sharing a bed should be a small thing. So then why did it feel so huge, when Jaskier took the plunge under the covers and watched as Geralt slowly followed?

The bed shifted as Geralt settled in. The hulking man had bathed recently enough that his musk wasn’t too offensive. In fact, to Jaskier’s horror, he found it rather comforting. Geralt was flat on his back with an arm behind his head, eyes already closed, and Jaskier turned to lay on his side facing away from Geralt, figuring that was safest. If his bottom bumped Geralt’s hip a few times as Jaskier shifted to get comfortable, well that was completely accidental and Geralt was enough of a gentleman not to mention it. Jaskier was surprised at how quickly he fell asleep, listening to Geralt’s slow, rhythmic breathing. It was a wonderfully comfortable bed, after all.

Jaskier woke to the lovely feeling of a strong arm looped around his waist, and a broad chest pressed against his back. Whoever Jaskier had fallen into bed with had nuzzled his face into Jaskier’s neck and their lower bodies were pressed close as well, giving Jasker the firm idea that his partner was happy with their sleeping arrangements as well. Jaskier stretched luxuriously, not wanting to wake enough to remember where he was, or who it was that was spooning him so snugly. Jaskier shifted a hand to cup the back of the mystery man’s head as he turned to face him and – oh. Jaskier suddenly remembered quite well where he was and who he was with, as he watched Geralt’s amber eyes flutter open to meet his. Jaskier saw with detached horror that his fingers were woven into Geralt’s beautiful white tresses, far too familiar. Their faces were so close that their noses brushed, a consequence of Jaskier’s traitorous body reacting before his brain had any input. “Good morning,” Jaskier said weakly, pulling his hand back slowly, as though that would make it all better. Geralt furrowed his brow, then looked down to where his arm was still wrapped around Jaskier. Geralt pulled his arm back as though it had been burned, and rolled to sit on the edge of the bed just as quickly.

“Morning,” he grunted, hair hanging in his face so that Jaskier couldn’t see his expression. Jaskier pulled the blankets up to his chin, surprised how hurt he was that Geralt was so put off by touching him. Geralt was dressing and gathering the things he’d need for the day’s hunt without saying a word, as though Jaskier wasn’t even there. He probably wished he wasn’t. Geralt looked surprised when he turned and saw that Jaskier was still in bed. He flicked his eyes towards the window, evaluating the angle of the rising sun, and said “I’m not waiting all day.”

Jaskier waved an airy hand. “You go on without me,” he said, trying to sound cheerful. It was clear now that if Jaskier kept clinging on so tight, he’d be crushed in the process. “I have some more beauty sleep to be getting on with.” Jaskier thought that Geralt frowned at that, but Geralt frowned at everything, and then he just said

“Right” and left the room without another word.

Jaskier couldn’t get back to sleep after Geralt left, but he hadn’t really expected to. He wondered briefly if he should make Geralt’s life easy, pack up and leave while he was out on his hunt. But he huffed and folded his arms, though there was no one around to see his performance. It was _Jaskier_ who had befriended the innkeeper and talked their way in to this premium room for free. It was Jaskier’s songs that had made Geralt such a desirable hire, and it was Jaskier who was sure of a warm crowd and generous coin if he performed again tonight. If Geralt wanted Jaskier gone just because they had _both_ cuddled _each other_ in their sleep he would have to at least use his words and ask Jaskier for what he wanted. Jaskier sighed and began to ready himself for the day, knowing it would be a long few hours of speculating about what Geralt’s mood would be upon his return.

Jaskier managed to worm his way into a card game downstairs, and hit enough of a losing streak that he had to return to their room to replenish his purse when Geralt lumbered through the door, sweaty but otherwise looking no worse for the wear. “Hello,” Jaskier straightened from where he’d been bent over his pack, trying to look nonchalant. “How’d it go then?”

Geralt shrugged and just said “fine,” which was monosyllabic even for him. Jaskier rolled his eyes and headed for the door. His hand was almost on the handle when Geralt blurted “I was asleep.”

“What?” Jaskier turned to look at him.

“This morning. When I-” Geralt gestured uselessly with his hands. “I should have sensed you and awoken. I _did_ sense you but” he looked down at his boots. “I thought I was dreaming.”

Jaskier furrowed his brow, still confused. “Ok?” he ventured.

“I just wanted you to know, that I would never do something like that. Against your will.”

“Hold on,” Jaskier said slowly. “You thought I was mad at you for how we woke up this morning?”

“You didn’t come on the hunt.”

Jaskier laughed. “Because I thought I made _you_ uncomfortable. I was embarrassed. I’m not one to balk at a sleepy embrace between friends.” Jaskier knew Geralt hated to be called his friend, and Jaskier was starting to hate it too, but for opposite reasons. “Your concern touches me though, truly.” Jaskier thought that if witchers could blush Geralt would be scarlet right now. The whole thing suddenly struck Jaskier as funny, in a tragic sort of way. “Hold on, so you’re saying your witchery senses weren’t activated because you thought you were dreaming? Who was I, in this vivid, sensuous dream? Perhaps that tall lass who was at the bar last night? Don’t say it was that mad witch you had in Rinde, or I’ll have to be frightened of myself.”

“I was dreaming of you.” Geralt let his head fall back against the wall, seeming determined to look anywhere but Jaskier’s face. “And I didn’t realize anything was amiss, because I dream of you often.”

“What kind of dreams?” Jaskier asked, feeling faint. Geralt just shook his head. “What kind of _dreams,_ Geralt.” And then suddenly Geralt was moving, shoving everything he could reach into his pack.

“Do not mock me,” he said as he worked, his voice like stone. “I thought I owed you the truth, after the rumors, but I will not stay to be laughed at.”

Jaskier could only think of one explanation for Geralt’s strange words and stranger behavior, but that had to be wrong, didn’t it? Jaskier didn’t think he could bear it, if he assumed _this_ about Geralt and turned out to be wrong. “Just _tell_ me,” he said, not a trace of laughter left in his voice.

“I dream of holding you,” Geralt bit out. “Other things, too, but it always starts and ends with just holding you, knowing you’re safe and warm.”

“Oh,” was all Jaskier could manage, and how ironic was that, for the bard to be the one left speechless after Geralt had been doing all the talking? Geralt was still avoiding his gaze, still packing, and it occurred to Jaskier that now would be a great time to say _something._ He opened his mouth, and what came out was “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I just did,” Geralt grunted.

“Yes _now_. And how long have we known each other? Over a decade? It might interest you to know that I’ve been in love with you for more than half of it.” Geralt stilled at that, and finally, finally looked at Jaskier full in the face. Geralt looked incredulous, at first, but he knew Jaskier too well for that to last long. Knew all his tricks and tells, knew that there was no way he was lying or teasing about this.

“Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice was soft now, almost unbearably so. “I’m a witcher. I can’t love. I can’t be loved.”

Jaskier wanted to laugh and scream all at once. Only Geralt, thick headed, wonderfully earnest _Geralt_ could confess to his best and only friend that he dreamed of embracing him tenderly and then balk at the mention of love. Jaskier crossed the room so that he and Geralt were chest to chest, and looked up into his stupid, beloved golden eyes and said, “Just shut up, will you?” And then the bard reached up and kissed his witcher, just as he’d imagined so many times. Jaskier started slow and careful, just a warm brush of lips against lips with his eyes closed. He opened them and saw that Geralt was not going to bolt or shove him away. Geralt was in fact clutching at Jaskier’s waist and shoulder to pull him closer, and then Jaskier kissed him in earnest, putting his hands in that beautiful white hair he’d loved for most of his life. Kissing Geralt was like singing, soaring through a well known chorus and hitting every note sweetly without trying. It was like the night Geralt had explained the constellations to him, all starlight and woodsmoke and the deep rumble of Geralt’s voice when Jaskier had thought to himself surely _this_ is what it feels like to truly live. Jaskier let himself get lost in the kiss, sucking Geralt’s tongue into his mouth and earning a desperate, half stifled groan. Jaskier tried to get his hands on as much as he could of Geralt’s chest and shoulders through his armor, head spinning too much to contemplate the laces and buckles that would have to be conquered to get said armor off. Geralt’s hands found Jaskier’s ass and pulled him in so that their hips were flush against each other, no room to hide how much just kissing had effected both of them. Jaskier gasped and let his head fall back and guided Geralt so that his mouth was at Jaskier’s neck. But instead of kissing or sucking or _gods_ biting as Jaskier had hoped, Geralt just let out a sigh against his neck. “Jaskier, what are we doing?”

Jaskier blinked. “Well, I’m fulfilling about ten different fantasies at the moment, and you’ve got two handfuls of the finest buttocks on the continent.” Jaskier stepped back so he could see Geralt’s face. “Why, is this not what you want?”

Geralt sighed. “I want this more than anything. I just, I don’t know how much I can give, what I have to offer that you would even want. I don’t – I don’t have any pretty words for you.”

Jaskier offered him a smile, even as his heart sank. He had frightened Geralt, with his impulsive words of love, and even though they were true he wondered if he should have kept them to himself. Just because Jaskier had been thinking of the two of them in terms of an epic romance didn’t mean that’s what this was for the witcher. But Jaskier didn’t think it was just a quick fuck to Geralt either. He was being too gentle, too deliberate, extending himself much farther than he usually bothered to. So. This mattered to him too. And perhaps that would just have to be enough for Jaskier. Perhaps, if Jaskier’s heart didn’t crumble to pieces in the process, they could meet each other somewhere in the middle. So he smoothed back Geralt’s hair where it had escaped its tie and said, “I want whatever you can give darling. Just that.” He regretted the “darling” as soon as it passed his lips. It was caught somewhere between a casual flirtation and a well worn term of endearment, and neither felt right. But Jasker forged ahead. “After all, I have enough pretty words for the both of us.”

Geralt caught Jaskier’s chin with a finger and tilted his head up so that their eyes met. Geralt’s golden gaze was endlessly complicated, but Jaskier had spent enough time untangling it that he could see the softness there. The appreciation. Of him, Jaskier realized. Geralt was openly admiring him, and then he was kissing him again. Geralt lifted Jaskier in his arms like he weighed nothing, one huge hand supporting each of his thighs as Jaskier wrapped his legs around Geralt’s waist. Jaskier had bedded burly men before, but he didn’t think he’d ever felt quite so dainty as he did when Geralt laid him out on their bed with a look of focus not dissimilar to the one he wore when he polished his swords. Geralt moved to straddle him, boots and dirty armor and all, but Jaskier stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“I will not have you besmirching this fine bed,” he said, looking pointedly at Geralt’s mud caked shoes. Geralt raised an eyebrow, shooting Jaskier a look that was full of filthy intentions. Jaskier felt his whole body heat up. “Well, not with dirt at least.”

Geralt just shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed instead, unlacing his boots as though he had all the time in the world. Jaskier crowded up behind Geralt and swept his lovely hair to one side, planting feather light kisses along his neck. Jaskier found what seemed to be a particularly sensitive spot behind Geralt’s ear, and was gratified to see Geralt’s hands fumble where they were now working on the laces of his armor. “Need some help?” Jaskier murmured in his ear. He reached around Geralt’s body and undid his lacing from behind much faster than the witcher himself had been able to. Jaskier was good with strings, after all. Finally, blessedly, Geralt turned to face Jaskier and his perfectly sculpted chest and torso were bare before him. Jaskier ran his eyes and then his hands greedily up his body and whispered “gorgeous” before he could stop himself. Geralt caught Jaskier’s wrists in one hand, and used the other to pull Jaskier’s shirt over his head and toss it aside. Geralt gave him a look that could only be described as hungry, and then his lips and teeth and tongue were at Jaskier’s throat, his shoulder, grazing across his chest, gentle but insistent. Jaskier lay back on the bed, hooking a finger in Geralt’s medallion and pulling so that the larger man lay on top of him and Jaskier could feel his strength and his hardness everywhere. Geralt’s tongue was in Jaskier’s mouth and his hands were on Jaskier’s hips and then suddenly neither of them were wearing trousers or small clothes any more and Jaskier wasn’t sure quite how that happened. He supposed that Geralt was good with his hands as well.

Jaskier had known, before this moment thrumming with anticipation and want, that witchers could feel. It had taken him about a week in Geralt’s company to dispel that particular myth. But now, seeing the way Geralt _looked_ at him in that all consuming, awe struck way, the determined care with which he prepared Jaskier for their joining after the bard babbled something about oils in his bag, the way they fit together like they had been crafted to do so, Jaskier wondered if humans had it backwards. They thought that witchers couldn’t feel at all, but maybe the truth was that witchers had some sort of deep, old magic that made the humans in their orbit feel too much. Because Jaskier had bedded more people than he could count, had given and received a thousand different types of pleasure, but it had never, ever been like this.

When they were done, gasping and sweaty and sated, Jaskier curled into Geralt’s chest and left a few soft kisses there for good measure. Geralt sighed contentedly, giving Jaskier’s arse a cheeky squeeze before wrapping his arm tight around his back. Jaskier let out a long exhale that turned into a laugh somewhere along the way. “Why, in the name of all that is good and holy, did we just now get around to doing that?”

Geralt shrugged, which Jaskier was able to feel up and down his whole body. “I’m a busy man. Don’t know what your excuse is.” Jaskier looked up to meet Geralt’s gaze, and watched a small but beautiful grin break out over his face as he chuckled. He bit Geralt’s shoulder in retaliation, none too softly. Geralt let out a “hmm” that sounded more interested than annoyed. But then he tilted his head in a way that meant he was listening to something Jaskier couldn’t hear.

“It’s almost full downstairs,” Geralt said, and glanced at Jaskier’s lute. “You should start soon.”

Jaskier took a long, slow stretch that brought his mouth closer to Geralt’s. “Alternatively, I could stay right here.”

“What about your coin?”

“We should be fine for a bit after the job you completed and our free stay here.” Jaskier frowned. “Unless you think we need it?”

“No,” Geralt’s hands tightened on Jaskier’s back. “We don’t need it. I just thought – you were raving about that audience last night.”

Jaskier grinned, and took his sweet time licking a stripe up the center of Geralt’s chest. Geralt’s eyes did not leave him the whole time. “As it happens, I prefer the audience I have here.”

Geralt cupped a hand behind Jaskier’s head, stroking his cheek with his thumb. “Guess I’ll have to pay attention for once.”

“You’ll pay for that, you brute,” Jaskier said, moving to straddle Geralt. Jaskier rolled his hips and found that by some miracle of witcher physiology Geralt was already hard again. Jaskier repeated the motion and Geralt closed his eyes and let out a sharp breath. The bard felt a little sorry that the friendly folk in the tavern below would be awaiting a show that wouldn’t come tonight, but alas, it seemed his considerable talents were needed elsewhere tonight.

Jaskier worried, as he fell asleep that night in Geralt’s arms, that the next morning would be some sort of horrid repeat of the last one. But when Jaskier awoke to sunlight streaming through the window, Geralt was awake and alert. They had rolled apart from each other during the night, but Jaskier saw that he had managed to trap one of Geralt’s hands between both of his. He was immediately embarrassed, but then again Geralt very easily could have extricated himself and had chosen not to. He wasn’t looking at Jaskier, but rather at the ceiling, breathing slow and steady and seemingly lost in thought.

“Good morning,” Jaskier said tentatively.

“Morning,” Geralt replied, inclining his head towards Jaskier. “How, uh, how are you?”

Jaskier didn’t know quite what he meant by that, but he had the lovely loose limbed and giddy feeling that only came after a remarkable fuck. “I’m _marvelous_ ” he grinned. “How about you?”

“Quite well,” Geralt nodded, and Jaskier watched the hint of a smug grin flit over his face. He was close enough to see there was a bit of white stubble on Geralt’s jaw in the sunlight, and impulsively he said

“Would it be quite awful of me to kiss you before I’ve cleaned my teeth?”

“No,” Geralt caught his eye. “I’m sure I’ve had worse.”

Jaskier leaned over and gave him a soft, lingering kiss, and he couldn’t believe that this was allowed, this was real, after all the times he’d imagined it. He pulled back enough to say “well _now_ it is certainly a good morning,” then, afraid he would say something absolutely mortifying if he stayed in bed any longer, he stole one more peck before springing to his feet. He hadn’t bothered putting on any clothes the night before, and he didn’t miss Geralt’s eyes tracking him as he walked to his pack. Jaskier made rather a show of bending over and took longer to select his clothing than was strictly necessary, and he shot Geralt a cheeky wink when he turned his head to find that Geralt was still watching. “Geralt of Rivia, the ass man,” Jaskier said, pulling on his breeches with a little extra shimmy. “Who would have thought?”

“Not my worst epithet,” Geralt said, and then suddenly he was right behind Jaskier, cupping his ass appreciatively. “And no one could question my taste.” Geralt planted a kiss that was mostly tongue under Jaskier’s jaw, and then moved on to pull clothes from his own pack, as though it were any other morning.

And just like any other morning they had spent together, Geralt and Jaskier took their leave of the inn, Jaskier offering Llorna thanks that were so effusive that Geralt shook his head and walked out ahead of him, and returned to the wilderness in search of the next hunt. The strangest thing about their new situation, Jaskier decided later that day as he sank to his knees in front of Geralt, was that it wasn’t really strange at all. Sure, watching pleasure wash over Geralt’s face as Jaskier sucked him off was even better than he had imagined, and he wanted to shout with joy when Geralt joined him on the forest floor to return the favor, but outside of the incredible sex, things between them felt pretty much as they always had. They shared the same ribbing and mostly one-sided conversations, the same well-worn routine as they set up camp together. Except that when Jaskier spread out his bedroll close to the fire he caught Geralt giving it an unsure glance as he held his own bedroll. Jaskier sat and looked up at him. “Geralt, I know you have virtually no manners, but surely even you would not be so rude as to leave me in the cold all night after I’ve been so _very_ attentive to your needs today.” Geralt rolled his eyes, but laid his bedroll next to Jaskier’s nevertheless. Jaskier wriggled down into his blankets, feeling that he’d won something, and a few moments later Geralt was draping his arm and his own blanket across Jaskier’s frame. Jaskier tucked his head into Geralt’s chest, and decided that this was one change he could live with.

They hung in that balance for a few weeks, kissing and laughing and fucking and talking about everything except whatever this thing was, growing between them. Jaskier should have known that sooner or later, he’d fuck it up. It was a night much like any other when he heard it. They were looking for an inn for the night when a strangely familiar tune drifted out from one building. “Hang on, that’s one of mine,” he said. It wasn’t one of his better-known songs that inevitably drifted into the repertoire of other bards, yet Jaskier was immediately sure he had written it. He grabbed Geralt’s arm and dragged him inside the tavern in question.

“Why do you care?” Geralt grumbled. “I’ve seen you clap along to other bards playing ‘toss a coin.’”

“Because I don’t remember ever performing this one in mixed company, so how could he have come to know it but by dishonorable means?” Jaskier was in the middle of gesturing emphatically at the offending bard when all at once he remembered what song this was. Jaskier had never performed this song in _any_ company, but he had once dropped it on the floor of a tavern in the middle of nowhere. It was just possible, cruel, on the part of fate, but possible, that someone had picked up that parchment and ended up in another backwater town at the same time as Jaskier. He felt the color leave his face. “You’re right, it’s no matter,” Jasker said quickly, now tugging Geralt back towards the door. “Let’s go.” But this time Geralt had planted himself.

“That’s the first time you’ve ever said I was right,” he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he kept tugging on geralt’s arm to no avail. “Please, Geralt.” Geralt looked into Jaskier’s face with confusion and concern, and then the lyrics of the next verse started.

_My gentle white wolf sends a call every night_

_Yearning for someone to come love him right_

_He doesn’t know that I’ve heard, or that I’ve replied_

_He’ll never know that he has truest love by his side_

_Mine’s not the love that he wants or he needs_

_But he’ll have it as long as my human heart bleeds_

_So I’ll watch and I’ll sing and I’ll pine all the while_

_And I’ll write a great romance into each little smile_

Jaskier didn’t wait to see Geralt’s reaction. He didn’t think he could bear it, after the first time he’d confessed his love and Geralt had frozen like he was the one being hunted for once. This, he was sure, would be even more off putting to Geralt. This proved that Jaskier hadn’t just been run away with his feelings in the heat of the moment, but that he’d loved Geralt in an acknowledged and deliberate way far before they ever kissed. He’d taken the time to write it down and put it to music and after all that it was not even Jaskier who got to say it to him, but rather some inferior bard who went flat on the high notes. Jaskier barely noticed what he was doing as he moved through the crowd, found the innkeeper and requested a room. What he was really doing was fleeing Geralt, which was a paltry, pathetic thing because no one could outrun the Witcher, and Jaskier knew with a dreadful certainty that he’d never have the strength to keep himself away regardless.

Jaskier barely had a moment to himself in the inn’s room before there was a slow, solid knock on the door. He willed his hands to stop shaking as he opened the door and stood aside to let Geralt in. Jaskier could feel those amber eyes drilling holes through him, but he kept his gaze on his boots, refusing to speak first.

After a long moment Geralt said “The song was beautiful. I never would have thought, that something beautiful like that, could be made about me.”

Jaskier did look up then, and as he took in Geralt’s face he wasn’t able to hold back any longer. “Everything about you is beautiful,” he sighed.

Now it was Geralt’s turn to look at the floor. “Jaskier, I leave for Kaher Mohen in three days time,” he said quietly.

“Right,” Jaskier said, feeling very far away. So that it was it then, what everything between them amounted to in Geralt’s mind. Three days notice before Jaskier was abandoned, instead of one. Would they even see each other when Geralt returned? Jaskier didn’t think he could bring himself to ask.

“Would you like to come with me?” Geralt said.

“What?”

“Would you like to come with me? To Kaer Morhen?”

“Truly?” Jaskier could barely speak for smiling.

“It’s fine if not. There isn’t much to do or see.”

“I want to come!” Jaskier rushed to assure him. “I’m just surprised you want me to.”

Geralt just tilted his head and said “of course I do” like it was the simplest thing in the world. And perhaps, after all their years together, it was.

It was about a month into his stay at Kaer Morhen when Jaskier got his answer. It was early in the morning, and Geralt had left their bed to hunt or chop firewood or do something else equally dull yet erotic. Jaskier couldn’t remember. All he knew was that when Geralt returned, slipping into bed without a sound so as not to wake Jaskier, it was like a human ice block had joined him under the blankets. Still half asleep, Jaskier wasted no time in wrapping himself bodily around Geralt, rubbing at his arms and making sure his feet were covered. Geralt chuckled and said “I’m a Witcher. Cold doesn’t affect me like it does a human. Go back to sleep and stop fretting.”

Jaskier’s eyes were still closed, but that didn’t stop him from rolling them. “Yes yes I know you are very big and strong and the cold can’t harm you the way it does me. But I can’t imagine it’s a pleasant feeling, being chilled like that.”

“It isn’t,” Geralt said slowly, as though he’d never really considered it before. And then, very softly, “I love you.”

Jaskier was fully awake now. He wondered if he’d heard correctly, but one look at Geralt’s face told him he had. “Well,” he managed around the lump in his throat, “good.” Geralt just laughed and tucked Jaskier’s head under his chin, and soon he was asleep, as though he hadn’t just turned Jaskier’s whole world on its side. Jaskier was anything but tired, his head full of music and lyrics. He wondered if he should get up and begin writing before he forgot all of it, but he couldn’t imagine that anything would feel better right now than staying in Geralt’s arms. So Jaskier curled closer to his love and pressed a kiss and a smile into his neck. The song could wait.


End file.
